


Hip Check

by Onehelluvapilot



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, BAMF Ethan Hunt, Gen, Hurt William Brandt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Protective Ethan Hunt, Rescue Missions, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24136369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onehelluvapilot/pseuds/Onehelluvapilot
Summary: Ethan rescues Brandt from where he's been held captive for several days and patches him up afterwards.
Relationships: William Brandt & Ethan Hunt
Comments: 12
Kudos: 46





	Hip Check

“Can you walk?” Ethan demanded as he cut the cable ties holding Brandt’’s wrists to the arms of the chair. One glance at the other man’s hands answered the next question about whether he could shoot, and Hunt kept the gun for himself.

“Yes,” Will said with determination and a voice wrecked by screaming. He didn’t shake off the hand Ethan placed on the back of his neck, and he blamed the probable concussion for the fact that it made him feel safe when the spy clenched his hand around his collar. It was clear as he led them towards the elevator that he was going to escort his friend out of the building like he would a target or a terrified civilian.

“We gotta hurry,” he said as if his actions and their very situation hadn’t already made that clear. “I wasn’t as stealthy as usual breaking in.”

Any other time Brandt would have made a joke about Ethan’s definition of stealth, but for now he just focused on keeping himself upright. His right leg in particular kept trying to go out from under him. The hand on the back of his neck pulled him along at a steady clip, but he couldn’t run, and before they reached the elevator, the elevator door opened and two Apostles got out with guns already drawn.

“Go, I’ll cover you,” Ethan ordered, shoving the other agent towards the staircase. The heavy fire door slammed shut, muffling the sounds of the fight. Will made his way down the stairs as fast as he could, arm sliding against the railing as he tried to take the agonizing weight off his injured leg. He reached the bottom and stumbled out of the stairwell at the same time as the elevator opened. Hunt, who from his rumpled appearance seemed to have been involved in some fisticuffs, paused for just a second to pick up his gun from where it lay beside the unconscious forms of the two Apostles. Wasting no time, he grabbed Will’s arm with his free hand and dragged him to the light blue minivan that had just screeched to a halt at the curb. Benji yanked the back door open for them and the two men stumbled inside, Ethan pushing the other spy in ahead of him.

Never having been one for keeping his hands and feet inside the moving vehicle at all times, Hunt left the sliding door open so he could lean out into traffic and shoot out the tires of the Apostles that fell into pursuit. Only when the minivan left behind the sleek black sports cars did he duck back inside.

“Where do these guys keep coming from?” He asked rhetorically, a smile on his face at their escape. It shifted back to a more serious and concentrated look as he turned Will. The agent had managed to lever himself up into a seat without the use of his hands, which he held up awkwardly to keep them from touching anything. “Jane, take us back to the safehouse,” Ethan orderded the driver. “How bad is it?”

“I’ve had worse,” Will managed to get out through gritted teeth. Benji, who gagged when he looked over, might have disagreed with that statement. Half of the man’s fingers were broken and the tips displayed just bloody beds, devoid of nails. The Apostles had ripped them all out.

“Sure you have,” Ethan agreed. He was planning out a cover story for how Will could have damaged his hands that badly should his team’s rudimentary medical skills not be enough and they were forced to go to the hospital.

Jane pulled the mini-van into an empty curbside parking space in front of a brownstone, much slower than she had previously pulled to the side of the street.

“I’ll go ditch the car,” she offered as Ethan and Benji helped Will out. The other IMF agents nodded and she pulled away as they made their way down into the basement apartment of the brownstone. Benji went in first, gun in hand, to make sure the safehouse was still safe, with Ethan and Brandt following him in when it was confirmed. The team leader lead the injured agent to the small bathroom. He keot him upright with an arm slung around his back as he runs the tap, checking the temperature with his free hand.

“This is going to hurt,” he warned before helping Will slip his hands under the water. A whine caught in the man’s throat and his knees went weak from the pain. Ethan caught him before he could collapse, bracing Brandt against his hip. "Maybe we should get you sitting down first," he amended, knocking down the lid of the toilet.

“Yeah, that might not be a bad idea,” Will replied breathlessly as he eased himself down to sitting. He was shaking as the adrenaline wore off. “There’s, uh, I think there’s still a bullet lodged in my thigh.”

“Shit, Brandt,” Ethan swore softly, but there was no anger in his voice. “Anything else?”

“Nope. Just the untreated three day old bullet wound and mangled hands. I think that’s enough.” His tone fell somewhere between bitter and borderline hysterical. Ethan retrieved the well-stocked first aid kit from beneath the sink and laid out everything he would need on a clean towel. The next minutes passed with only muttered apologies and groans muffled through the rolled up washcloth Will shoved into his own mouth to keep from screaming. Finally the bullet from Brandt’s thigh dropped to the ground along with the makeshift gag.

“I’ve still got to disinfect it and stitch it up,” Ethan warned him, suspecting that he had spit out the washcloth prematurely.

“Yeah, but I can take that,” he said. His voice was still hoarse and sweat beaded on his forehead. Ethan wanted to check his temperature with the back of his hand, but he still wore gloves. Anyway, checking for fever was lower priority anyway than finishing patching up his leg. The bullet had caught him in the thigh a few inches above his knee, and thankfully missed the artery. It was still deep though, and the red puffiness of skin around the wound said that it was infected, though thankfully that was the extent of it. He would need antibiotics, but hopefully it wouldn’t get too serious.

True to his word, Brandt kept himself from making a noise while Ethan cleaned and sutured the wound. He did it quickly and efficiently, pausing only when Brandt seemed to be struggling to breathe around the pain. He stopped his stitching and rubbed the other man’s knee in what he hoped was a comforting manner.

“Okay, you can keep going,” he finally said in a small voice. Ethan wanted to offer him painkillers but he knew the control-freak spy wouldn’t take them. He hated the idea of being at all out of it too much, even though he had to recognize that if something did happen, there wasn’t much he could do about it in his current state. He wasn’t helpless, but he wasn’t exactly far from it. If hard pressed, he might be able to shoot someone, but there was no way he could fight effectively with a fever and wounds like this.

Ethan splinted his broken fingers and taped bandaids around his bloody nail beds after cleaning them gently with a piece of damp gauze. He handled Will’s hands like he was defusing a bomb, with the utmost care and concentration. As the injured agent couldn’t hold a glass by himself, and his throat was too sore to dry swallow the antibiotics, Hunt held the water with one hand and supported the back of his neck with the other. When he had done everything else he could, he carried Will to bed rather than let him walk.

“This safehouse should still be secure, but we’re gonna keep watch just in case,” Ethan soothed him in place of tucking the agent in to bed. Brandt wouldn’t appreciate coddling, but knowing about their security measures would help him rest better. “I’ve got the first four hours, so if you need anything, just call.”

“Thanks, Ethan,” Will muttered, sounding distinctly less surly than usual. He rolled over and practically snuggled down into the thick bed in a matter very unbecoming of an agent. “After the first day, I thought for sure I had been disavowed.”

“Not by me,” Hunt assured him before flicking off the light.

**Author's Note:**

> I love comments.


End file.
